


Every Work and Wonder

by kayura_sanada



Series: Souls Made of Dream and Idea [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Study Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:17:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas studies Lavellan's smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Work and Wonder

There was always something about Lavellan’s smile. It came easy, like the dawn. Natural. Nearly inevitable. He would see its echo as she read, as she found a new world, a new knowledge. A happy ending. It would burst like starlight at Varric’s jokes or Dorian’s snark, Sera’s antics or The Iron Bull’s bawdy tales; it would ripple like water as she struggled to hide her mirth when Cassandra and Varric bickered or – and here was when he both loved and hated that grin – when he and Sera argued. The smile that bloomed like morning buds when Cole spoke may have been the most beautiful; she looked on him with eyes that seemed to sparkle, her entire body open and expressive as she showed awe and affection for a being the entire world had taught her to hate, the blood of the elves so strong in her in those moments it seemed almost to blind him.

But though he thought her radiant in those moments, the times he found himself without breath were when she smiled at him. When he gave her a compliment, be it on her looks or her manner or her mind, when he turned his full attention on her, when he taught her something new. The simplest responses from him could bring about that movement of head and shoulders, the ducking down of her chin and the hunched limbs that tried to hide away her blush. She would uncurl slowly, as if from a cocoon, her downcast eyes shifting up as her shoulders lowered and her lips tugged wide, the flash of teeth as she looked up through her lashes at him, her amethyst eyes soft and warm and searching. When she looked at him like that, as if he were unequaled, he could forget, for a time, what his sins had cost the world.

That the elves had somehow managed to create someone like her amidst the thousand years of chaos brought him hope. In those moments, when she looked at him like that, the world almost seemed perfect the way it was. And then she would turn back to her book, or lean against him, or ask him a question. Something mundane, but glorious; that smile would pull her free of her coil, show the flash of brightness and shine in her very existence, a butterfly spreading free against the morning dew. Her hands, her mind, would reach out like wings – to turn a page, to touch his hand or cheek. To flutter in the air as she spoke.

And with her hand would come a flash of green. The scar on the wing, the frail gossamer torn. And he would remember. And he would ache.


End file.
